Friday, November 13, 2009

Photobucket

Photobucket
Everyday I wonder about summer and think about how you must be faring over those wide open seas. And then I let myself pour a cup of tea and settle down in old wicker chairs to mope and think about all the times I let your silky tresses cloud my vision, let those stunning eyes of yours burn into my soul. The sun has ridden his carraige deep over the mountain tops. And I grieve.

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